


Wicked and Twisted

by Anonymous



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Ficlet, Just clowns being clowns, M/M, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27054808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tagora asks Marvus to cease and desist.Posting from my tumblr for archival reasons.
Relationships: Marvus Xoloto/Tagora Gorjek
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	Wicked and Twisted

**Author's Note:**

> From my rare pair prompt generator: "trying to walk on ice." Ship was Marvus and Tagora. This is just a weird and silly lil fic all around!

It’s not often that you get to type up a cease and desist order.

Usually, you’re the one receiving them. This is a nice change of pace.

The envelope is so crisp and sharp in your hands that you consider changing your strife specibus. Hired muscle everywhere try to stop you, but you know their type and they know yours. A simple flash of your envelope- sufficiently official looking- is enough to send them glancing at each other, as if to say “Can he do that?”

Legally, no, you can’t. But it’s enough to brush past them and straight to Marvus Xoloto’s dressing room. You knock on the door- hopefully clowns are as fond of novel experiences as you’d read in some light reading. That is, some very _upstanding_ , _well_ _written_ light reading, thank you very much. 

He opens the door- saying he looks bewildered is an understatement- and looks around before looking down.

“Hey.” He says. His voice sounds amused. You take a glance at him: his hair is pulled back, but his face paint is complete. Perfect timing on your part.

“Marvus Xoloto?”

“The one and only bro!” He stands a little straighter. You hate to admit it, but his pride in himself is almost... Dare you say it? You’re feeling a little sick with yourself. He’s. _Blugh._ Cute.

Instead of continuing your internal monologue, you hold your hand out to him. He slaps it, like a high five. Good enough.

“Tagora Gorjek,” you attempt to stand a little straighter, imitating his earlier stance. He quirks his brow at you; this is a very delicate operation. “I’m here on business.” With that, you hand him your impeccably typed orders. He takes it from you and beckons another troll forward, a stout teal blood with a face like steel. They rip it open and start to read while Marvus reaches out toward you. You flinch.

“Come on in my man!” He pulls you into his dressing room. Fuck. “I always been more a pleasure man myself, LOL!” He sits you down on the plushest couch you’ve ever sat your ass down on as he heads to... Not a mini bar. Maxi bar, perhaps. 

His legislacerator from earlier knocks before entering, and whispers in his ear. He nods, bringing his hand to his chin thoughtfully, before he smiles and cracks his eye open to look at you.

“You’re asking me to,” he puts on a hoity-toity voice, “‘cease and desist’ ignoring your legal advice?” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he laughs and laughs. You have to shake your head clear. He’s captivating. It’s no mystery how he became, well, the most uttered name in musical history.

“Bro that’s the funniest shizz I even heard,” he sits down next to you, personal space be damned. “What, you down wit the clown too?”

“No,” you say.

“Not even a lil?”

“No,” you say.

“Damn, cuz, that’s a shame.” He makes this exaggerated frowny face. “Woulda at least considered it for a brother.”

You go on your spiel. It’s not boring, exactly, but it’s so familiar that you’re able to zone out and focus on him.

This guy’s good. No tells: his face is painted in a placid smile in more ways than one. His relaxation is genuine. You wonder if he’s even listening.

He holds up a hand right as you’re explaining the legal consequences of ‘punching up’ comedy (that you know he employs in several of his shows). 

He says something that even you can’t parse. You ask him to repeat it.

“What I meant was: why do you care though?”

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” you make a mental calculation: +300 caegars for deciphering his slang, +600 caegars for sitting in your personal space, +1,500 caegars for asking about your motive, and +2,000 caegars for your answer. “I’m not at all interested in you. I’m interested in your money.”

This is it: the moment of truth. Jugglos value honesty (right below “fat tits” but right above “not being a trying ass motherfucker”), or so you’ve heard.

Your wildest hopes come true: he smiles at you. All of his smiles are genuine, so you don’t know what this one means until he holds his hand out to you.

“Respect.” You shake his hand and he looks confused.

You don’t know what he expected. You are an honest man, after all.


End file.
